Drowning
by Eternity1
Summary: A self pitying man has a chance encounter with a young man in a bar that changes his perspective.


Title: Drowning  
Author: Eternity  
Rating: PG I guess  
Summary: A self pitying man has a chance encounter with a young man in a bar that changes his perspective.   
Disclaimer 1: I own Zach. The "enigmatic" young man. He's mine, all mine.  
Disclaimer 2: Disclaimer 1 is false. Fox owns him, and the Dark Angel world.   
  
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I met a man once, in a bar on a lonely Wednesday night. He was sitting at the back of some dive I frequented. I knew right away he was different from most of the patrons. There was something in his eyes...they were sharp, aware. Like he saw everything around him and committed it to memory. He didn't appear drunk, but the 7 shotglasses I saw in front of him when I sat a few stools down said another story. I ordered a beer that I knew would taste like stale piss and watched him out of the corner of my eye. I knew I wasn't the only one, there was something about this man. He was powerful, charismatic, he owned the room so casually and so indifferently. About five minutes into my drink a young woman slid up to him, touching him on the arm suggestively and whispering something. He didn't even look at her when he shook his head no and ordered another drink. She pouted a little and tried again but he glared at her and she scampered away like a scared mouse. His eyes caught mine and I saw a flash of something I hadn't in so long...intelligence. The bright brilliance of a mind that hadn't been killed by hopelessness and drink. I looked away and took another drink of my warm disgusting beer, and studied the warped bar counter.  
  
I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to go over there, sit next to him and start a real conversation. My mind is so craved for it I could scream, rip at my hair and dance like a madman. Sleeping in a box between a dumpster and a rat nest hadn't exactly satisfied my need for human interaction. I wasn't always a barfly, no I was respected once. I was a _teacher_ an educator. I could stand up in front of a room and passionately discuss for hours the reasons, the different perspectives that began the Revolutionary War. Debate any number of issues with some of the brightest minds I had ever met. None of that matters now, no one cares about that now. The damn Pulse took everything from me, everything that mattered. Survival, that was what life after the Pulse was. No one cared about a mere professor, who needs to learn about the Norman Invasion of Saxon England when they're starving? God damn the Pulse.  
  
So I sat on my tattered stool, once more spending the little money I had on weak beer that wouldn't do anything to ease my depression. At least tonight there was a distraction, an enigmatic young man sitting in a dark corner. I downed the last of the mug and headed for the bathroom. After staring at my dirty, pathetic face in the mirror for a long minute I reentered the bar. This time though...I took a chance. I sat next to the stoic man and ordered another beer. Once more I took a glance at him, and he looked back. Once. He was younger than I thought, probably not more than twenty-one or twenty-three. The disdain was so obvious in his eyes, I was just another pathetic drunk and so was promptly dismissed.   
  
I sipped my beer, trying to decide how to start a conversation without appearing to be hitting on him. I probably couldn't just say, "Hey you seem kind of smart, want to talk? I think my brain might be turning to mush, I'm surrounded by people who can't remember their names half the time." No, that wouldn't work at all. So instead I found myself intrigued by his face, his eyes. Though he was young his eyes were so old, even for this new harsh world. And they were cold, frozen like someone had killed everything inside of him. No, no there was something...loneliness. Something I could easily recognize. Then he was looking back at me and despite my uneasiness I didn't look away.  
  
"What?" He asked, his voice unyielding, expressing nothing. I shook my head and turned back to my putrid, warm drink.   
  
"Nothing," I replied. "Nothing at all."  
  
"Obviously it was something." He returned, it was the tone of voice of someone who was used to being right. Used to command, authority. So like the weak bastard I was I answered.  
  
"I was just thinking, just thinking." I replied. He didn't answer so I continued. "About the Pulse, what I was before. You probably think I'm some loser drunk but I wasn't always like this. I was someone back then, someone." My voice was full of longing for a better time. He was still silent so I went on. "But the Pulse took everything away. Now I'm just an old man who talks to rats because no one else will listen. Those damn rats have a better education that more than half the people in here probably."  
  
He shook his head and threw back another drink. "So just blame the Pulse for everything, don't take any responsibility for yourself." He said. I just stared. I don't know what I expected, sympathy probably. That's what it was with everyone else. "People blame the Pulse for taking everything away, for somehow making them less of a person. Surroundings change, it's you who allowed yourself to become less than you were."   
  
I stare stupidly into my glass, unable to respond. Suddenly I wished I hadn't come and sit next to this young man. I didn't want to hear his insights, his views. Pathetic, self pitying bums were easier to deal with.   
  
"How would you understand? You must have just been a child when it happened."  
  
"I was never a child," he said sharply. I glanced at him in surprise, his face was tense and his eyes unfocused. I recognized that look, he was remembering. His jaw clenched and unclenched and his face was pale.  
  
"What are you doing in a dive like this anyway?" I asked suddenly. I winced at the 'What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?' reminder. His eyes cleared and refocused on me, obviously not taking it as a pickup.  
  
"Drowning," he whispered after a moment.  
  
"Excuse me?" I asked in confusion. He raised his hand and pounded on the bar once and the bartender quickly filled a shotglass back up, good stuff he must have had money I noticed. He downed it in one gulp.   
  
"Drowning," he repeated. "Or trying to, some memories are hard to kill." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and I caught a glimpse of something that looked like a barcode - but who would want a barcode tattooed on the back of their neck? I didn't want to be rude but I figured I had already passed that line a couple miles back so I asked about it.   
  
"A reminder." He answered bitterly.  
  
"A reminder?" That boy was as cryptic as a damn tomb.  
  
"I'm marked and the Devil's hunting." He whispered. Then he laughed and threw a scornful glance at his empty drinks. I could tell from that he didn't drink often, yet you'd think with all he's tossed back he's be passed out on the floor or doing an awful rendition of his favorite song. He laid some bills on the counter and grabbed a leather jacket he had stashed next to him.   
  
"Where are you going?" I ask curiously.  
  
"I always was too good of a swimmer to drown," he said and turned to walk away. Then he stopped and said over his shoulder, "Good luck." I nodded and looked down, when I looked back up again he was gone. I stared at the door for a few moments then laughed. God, life was strange. The I paused for a moment before sliding the rest of my beer to a guy a couple stools down. Maybe it was time I learned to swim too.  
  
End. 


End file.
